


We Ran Faster

by fightingformore



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don’t copy to another site, First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M, it's gay now, or has it always been gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 09:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightingformore/pseuds/fightingformore
Summary: Nick is tired of being a passive observer in his own story. With the affairs, the lying and what happened to Myrtle, he has a terrible feeling about what is coming next. Acting on instinct, Nick gets Gatsby out of town before things go sideways. Alternate ending to The Great Gatsby.





	We Ran Faster

**Author's Note:**

> _“It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” _ – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
> 
> In order to keep the flow and style of The Great Gatsby I used some direct quotes and started this fic with text taken from chapter 8 in the book (in italics). This story picks up the morning after Daisy killed Myrtle. Gatsby had waited all night in case Daisy needed him to save her from Tom. Gatsby has just come home and Nick went to him because he _“felt that [he] had something to tell [Gatsby], something to warn him about, and that morning would be too late." ___

_“Nothing happened,” he said wanly. “I waited, and about four o’clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light.” _

_ His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes. We pushed aside curtains that were like pavilions, and felt over innumerable feet of dark wall for electric light switches — once I tumbled with a sort of splash upon the keys of a ghostly piano. There was an inexplicable amount of dust everywhere, and the rooms were musty, as though they hadn’t been aired for many days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar table, with two stale, dry cigarettes inside. Throwing open the French windows of the drawing-room, we sat smoking out into the darkness. _

_ _It occurred to me in those moments before sunrise with Gatsby’s soothing voice recounting the realities of who he was, of where he truly came from, of some mystical past he held tightly in his grasp, that all this could fade as quickly as the dawn. That Gatsby, he was worth more than I could admit, and he was a better man than the lot of them put together. Or he could have been._ _

_ _It was there in the echoing silence as the sun peeked over the horizon that I made more of a decision than I had the whole summer._ _

_ _“Are you ready to go?” I asked._ _

_ _“Go, old sport?” Gatsby chewed the end of his cigarette still gazing out into the morning._ _

_ _“Yes, you promised to take me over to Atlantic City. Last month - you remember, of course. The business opportunity.” I could have easily said any city for I was certain that Gatsby had business everywhere on the continent. What kind of business didn’t seem to matter at the moment, but I was struck with the sense that Gatsby could not stay in West Egg. “Gatsby, tell me you didn’t forget? I’ve already packed.” The lies slipped through my lips as easily as the breeze through the windows. It was the effect of spending my evenings with Jordan, I imagine. _ _

_ _“Now, listen hear, old sport!” He had donned that tone of commanding officers from the war. If I still harbored any doubt of his stories from abroad, they were snuffed out by that booming crescendo. “I agreed to no such thing, and even if I had, old sport, I simply can’t go away now. Why, Daisy will call this morning. She was just a bit excited yesterday.” I had never known him to fidget. Daisy had that effect on people, I suppose. “I certainly can’t miss that. She never loved him you know,” Gatsby’s eyes were wide and distant, recounting the harsh words that I had soundly put behind me. “He just frightened her is all. She’ll come ‘round by noon, I’m sure of it.”_ _

_ _I almost left him then, to catch my train, to go to work, and wash my hands of this whole sordid affair. I could see as clearly as the waters of the Sound that he would love his distorted, heavenly vision of Daisy until his dying breath._ _

_ _“And here I thought your word might mean something.” I let disgust color my voice. It was easier than I thought it might be. “All that time trying to get me into your business. You said I would be well suited for it, yet here you are, taking back an opportunity. How you do any kind of business at all like this I will never know. A pity they don’t teach common decency at Oxford, hm?” A man’s honor was a low blow, but by then, I had more than half a plan and I was not equipped to bodily drag him from his mansion._ _

_ _“I thought this might happen,” I continued, harshly putting out my cigarette. “Why, I’m all dressed for work because I had half a mind that you were as false as Tom.” Since childhood, I had always been warned against calling into question a man’s character, particularly a man you want to continue acquaintance with, but ends and means and all that. _ _

_ _“How dare you!”_ _

_ _“No, how dare you! I understand we had a nasty night,” I held up my hand to keep him from interrupting, “But, I have a future to consider, even if that poor girl doesn’t. God rest her soul.” I stood, puffed myself up like I had seen Tom do all those times and put on my military voice, though I never rose ranks like he did. “Now, I am going to pick up my bag. You pack your things and have the driver bring the car around. Step lively, Gatsby, you said we were on the 8:30 train.” With that, I stormed out of his mansion. I had truly never stormed out of anywhere in my life, though exposure to Daisy gave me intimate knowledge as to how its done. _ _

_ _In my haste to pack, I would forget several things, including a book for the train, any kind of nightwear, and arguably most importantly, to call into work and tell them I would be out of town for a few days. _ _

_ _Gatsby’s white town car was pristine in the morning light as it rumbled up my drive not a moment after I had finished packing, Gatsby himself in the backseat, angry as a thunderstorm. The driver made quick work of putting my bags away, and I lost any excuse to delay what I was sure to be quite a row. As the door thumped closed behind me with an air of finality, Gatsby leveled me with an angry stare. _ _

_ _“If you are going to be working in my business, you will need more respect.” I might never have seen him so put out. “I don’t put up with behavior like this.”_ _

_ _Not able to conjure the same level of fervor, I replied with, “Shall I call you ‘Sir,’ then?” I must have appeared properly chastised for he became less and less severe as the car left West Egg. _ _

_ _“Just don’t think you can order me around, old sport.” _ _

_ _“Yes, sir.” _ _

_ _“‘Gatsby’ will do just fine.”_ _

_ _“Of course, Gatsby.”_ _

_ _The driver had enough tact not to take us past the ashheaps or near Wilson’s garage, but I caught a glimpse of the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg as we crested a hill anyway. The view sent goosebumps down my arms. What other secrets did those eyes hold? What other atrocities did they stand in silent witness to?_ _

_ _There was no train to Atlantic City at 8:30; in fact, there was no train direct to Atlantic City at all, but there was one at 9:30 that would take us to Philadelphia where we could take another direct. I thought the jig was up, but Gatsby bought us tickets without complaint. In the thick din of the bustling train station, we waited. I imagine we made a strange picture - me in my navy budget suit and patched luggage next to Gatsby, in his gorgeous pink rag and designer bag, a noble among the riff raff. _ _

_ _“I don’t know why this is so important to you, old sport,” he said after a moment. “And I really should prefer to be home, but I consider us friends, truly. And this is what friends do, I suppose.” He sounded unsure all of a sudden, like perhaps he had not had many friends in his extravagant life. I thought back to the lavish parties that poured from his mansion like waterfalls of music and laughter, then to the dazzling guests who in their drunken gayety spouted baseless stories about their host like he was some urban legend and I thought, indeed, that I might be the first. _ _

_ _“I suppose so.” I offered up a smile that I hoped conveyed my understanding and the profound relief it was to be here with him, but left out the thick well of pity that pooled in my heart. To be a man with so much, yet truly nothing at all. Yes, I pitied Gatsby then more than I have pitied any other in my life. _ _

_ _“Indeed.” He turned back to his perusal of the masses. Whether he found what he was looking for among the troves of people I will never know._ _

_ _As the train carried us away from the looming New York skyline, Gatsby shed the tension in his shoulders and the creases on his face melted away. I always knew him to be extraordinarily handsome, but in those moments where he seemed content, I might have called him beautiful. We did not talk for most of the trip (I presume it was because he was still a bit upset with me), but as we boarded our second train there was a spring in his step and he seemed brightened by the rattle of the train car. I mentioned in passing that I had never been to any city along the coast besides New York, and Gatsby grasped the topic like a lifeline. He was not a man made for quiet or grudges. _ _

_ _He regaled me with stories of his escapades up and down the coast, insisting that we stop in Philadelphia on the way back. By the time we arrived in Atlantic City, he had told more stories than I could possibly remember, some of which may have even been true. _ _

_ _The train had been packed with businessmen attending some conference or another which meant the hotels were subsequently full to bursting. The decadent hotel of Gatsby’s choice glittered like a jewel on the water, and at his introduction, they offered to relocate any guest to suit his needs. I insisted we take a room already available for my conscience could not take the blow. _ _

_ _It was a luxurious room. Smaller, of course, than any Gatsby would dare entertain in, and far larger than any I had ever dreamed to lodge in. With the jaunty music drifting up from the courtyard, it stood in stark counterpoint to Gatsby’s dark and hollow mansion, empty of its menagerie of glittering socialites. The single bed gave me pause, though it was large enough for multitudes, it was still only one. The fact shuffled to the back of my mind when Gatsby declared he had to make a call. Indeed, by getting him out of the city I had resigned myself to entertaining Gatsby’s business, the topic of which was still unclear to me. _ _

_ _I used the time to make my own calls back to the city. First, to my employer who had noticed my absence hours ago and had been ringing the house constantly if the secretary was to be believed. I was left with the unpleasant task of informing them that I would be out of town and not to contact me, if at all possible. With the right combination of “Yes, Mr. Herrington,” “No, Mr. Herrington,” “Of course, Mr. Herrington,” and “My deepest apologies, Mr. Herrington,” I managed to keep my job by the skin of my teeth and secure however much time I needed for this escapade with Gatsby. _ _

_ _Next, I rang Daisy, because I knew Gatsby would badger me for news. Their butler informed me that she and Tom had just left, baggage in hand. _ _

_ _“Left no address?” _ _

_ _“No.”_ _

_ _“Say when they get back?”_ _

_ _“No.” _ _

_ _“Perhaps Daisy left a message?”_ _

_ _“No. Will that be all, sir?”_ _

_ _The affirmation hadn’t fully left my mouth when the line went dead. _ _

_ _Gatsby had yet to return, so I rang up Jordan Baker. _ _

_ _“You weren’t so nice to me last night,” she said without preamble._ _

_ _There was a beat of silence as I processed that presumptuous statement. “How should it have mattered if I was nice to you? A woman’s dead.”_ _

_ _There was the swish of her hair against the receiver and I knew she was balancing that precious invisible object on the tip of her chin again. “However – I want to see you.” _ _

_ _“I’m out of town.” _ _

_ _“Well, so am I. All the way to Boston.” I knew for a fact she had a game in Southampton that evening. They had just announced it on the radio. _ _

_ _“I suppose I’ll see you when I get back.”_ _

_ _“Very well.” The line cut off abruptly. _ _

_ _To stymie the anxiety that comes with being alone with one’s thoughts, I busied myself with exploring the small bar in the corner of the room. The decanters were full of liquor that smelled as expensive as Gatsby’s suit. I had already downed two glasses by the time there was a knock at the door. _ _

_ _The door fell open to reveal a pale and shaking Gatsby leaning heavily on the doorframe. I thought it had to do with business, but he explained as I pulled him into the room that his doorman had called. The police had been at his house all afternoon. A madman with a gun shot himself on Gatsby’s front lawn. They said he was deranged, demanding to see Gatsby and nearly shot the butler when he told him Gatsby was gone. As soon he heard the sirens, he turned the gun on himself. Nasty business, the police had said, still no motive. They’d identified the body as one George Wilson. Poor sod may have gone mad with grief, they thought, since his wife had been killed just the night before. _ _

_ _“He would have killed me, old sport.” There was a breathlessness that I had never heard from him before. “No doubt in my mind.”_ _

_ _After a moment, he added, “Might have deserved it even.”_ _

_ _ “Daisy was driving, Gatsby. You told me so yourself.” _ _

_ _“Perhaps, I was misremembered, old sport.”_ _

_ _In that moment I realized he had built it up in his head, just like his version of Daisy. He truly believed by now that it was him driving because in his mind, there could be no fault in her. Gatsby would go to prison for her, would die for her, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Daisy would let him. _ _

_ _“They’re a rotten crowd.” The words reverberated in me like church bells. “You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.” _ _

_ _He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time, like maybe in his whole life no one had cared to tell him so. _ _

_ _I kissed him then, to wash the sadness from his eyes. One last desperate bid to pull him from the past. When we parted his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we’d been in ecstatic cahoots the whole time. We never did speak of business, though we stayed the whole week in Atlantic City, then another in Philadelphia. _ _

_ _I will look back at those weeks and think of Gatsby, stripped bare of his stories and fantasies, experiencing the richness of the present, no longer reaching for a green light in the distance, but savoring the exuberance of life. There are many things that I might regret that summer in West Egg, but Gatsby will never be one of them. _ _

_ _And so we beat on, sails to the wind, charging forward into the future._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t hate this book when I read it in high school, which is the highest praise I gave required readings at the time. Now though, post graduate school, searching for the next phase in my career, terrified of starting a new chapter in my life, I picked it up again, and I get it. The themes, the tones, the messages all resonate with me in a way that they couldn’t have in high school. That being said, the ending hurt much more this time around and I get it! That is the point, but you’re going to have to forgive me because I love happy endings. They give me hope, so I wrote my own ending. One where Nick takes a step, makes a commitment and says “I will not stand by if there is something that can be done here.” Nick Carraway is relatable in his passive, observant narration. He is not at fault for being a bystander of tragedy any more than the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg, but there is evidence in the text that he did have the most common sense of all of these characters and I loved exploring what would happen if he chose to act on it. Also, it's gay and we should say it.
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic so I would love feedback, but please be gentle.


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